


Nephilim

by Mayori



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angel Sam, Angry Winchesters, F/M, Grieving parents, I know it says Michael/Mary but honestly it's a one time thing, M/M, Nephilim, Nephilim Sam, Nice Michael, Unless you threaten his family, alternative universe, enough to concieve Sam though, kind of, like just one time, then he'll go for your throat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3132110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayori/pseuds/Mayori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is Michael’s Nephilim child. Hoping to protect his son from his destiny, Michael leaves his child in the care of the youngest archangel: Aziraphale, and his partner, the fallen angel Crowley. Both have no idea how to take care of a baby, and things are complicated when the Winchesters begin searching for Sam. It gets even more complicated when Gabriel enters the picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Michael

 

 

 

ACT ONE:  
DISOBEDIENCE

 

 

 

Chapter One:

Michael

 

Michael rarely got curious. He is the oldest of His Father’s celestial creations and he has seen many strange things rise and fall from the Beginning, so he does not often take notice of the people living on Earth.  He felt that the birth of his Vessel was a cause worthy of curiosity, however.

He took possession of John Winchester once more and visited the human’s wife, Mary. She was lying on an uncomfortable looking bed, cooing and smiling at his Vessel. This was not the first time Michael had seen Mary, but something was different.

Of course, she looked older and the white gown was nothing like the garments she was wearing when he had first met her. That wasn’t what bothered him.  It was her soul, brightly shining with pride and happiness, that caught his attention. It was beautiful.

Temptation was not new to Michael. He had fathered a Nephilim before, yet she died before he could see her and she killed her mother with her. Adam and Eve never forgave him; they rightfully held him responsible for what happened to their daughter.

More importantly, he never forgave himself.

So, when Michael felt the distantly familiar twinge of _want_ , he left John’s body in a hurry, not bothering to even look at his Vessel. He reached Heaven as fast as his wings could take him. He settled in his favorite place of Heaven and mediated.

That too was corrupted by the image of laughing green eyes and a bright, happy soul.

*

His Vessel is three years old when he visits the Winchesters once more.

It is August, and John Winchester is sweaty from work and according to Mary, ‘sexy’. Michael is pleased that she’ll garner pleasure form their copulation.  He only desired this coupling for a chance – a chance for his grace to become one with her soul, even if it is only for a little while.

It is just one night, he convinces himself. Nothing will come out of it, he tells himself. His Father has not allowed a new Nephilim to be born after their Deliverance, after all. Surely his Father would not allow one to be born now?

*

Michael doesn’t dare to visit the Winchesters again. He can’t look into Mary’s soul without feeling guilty of what he had done, of what he had succumbed to. News of the abomination’s birth reaches his ears, two months after it was born.

Curiosity burned within him again. What does it look like? How’s the family doing? How’s his Vessel handling being an older brother? Is the abomination anything like Lucifer?

He doesn’t know why, he _shouldn’t_ care about the abomination but he does. He _wants_ to see it, so he does. This time, he didn’t dare possess John, however. If he did, he might fall into temptation once more and that is not something he can afford. Instead, he possesses a pediatrician in the hospital Mary frequents.

The man is unassuming and there was nothing interesting about him other than being part of Michael’s bloodline. He’s of a lesser branch though, which is why he cannot chance staying too long inside the human’s body.

When Michael lays eyes on the abomination for the first time, he chokes. This can’t be right; the child’s soul’s is bright, as bright as His smile. The child also has qualities of an angel, but how? Lucifer must’ve done something; he must be attempting to strengthen his Vessel – to give him an advantage over Michael’s Vessel.

Michael fled the man’s body after he wiped his memory clean, as fast as he did years before, the second time he left John’s body when his eyes landed on Mary’s shining soul.

*

When Samuel becomes four months old, Michael accepts the fact he was the child’s sire. He had checked on the Nephilim multiple times and the time frame fits; Samuel was born on May and Michael’s and Mary’s… session was during August. Of course, his fledgling’s genetic material would be from John and Mary, but everything other else was his. After accepting that fact, the first thing Michael did was to outlaw the use of the world ‘abomination’. The child has yet to ingest any demon blood, and if Michael had any say, his offspring shall never have to.

He is extremely grateful towards his Father for declaring that Nephilims are no longer abomination after the third generation’s Deliverance for if he hadn’t, he’d be forced to end his son. Angels are now allowed to have children with humans once again, but no angel attempted to father children with humans. To do so would be the same as falling into temptation, darkness – to Fall. Not that it mattered; even though they are allowed to have Nephilim children, He did not allow any to be born. Some women carried the Nephilim to term, but like Adam and Eve’s daughter, the child would be born choking on their own Grace while the mother died trying to save their newborn.

After that, Michael had to prepare for his fledgling. Mary can only have two more months with Samuel before he comes to take him; she cannot protect his son. She had walked away from hunting a long time ago, after all.

He considered warding his Nest, which had been empty since its creation. Samuel would like his Nest; it is bright and safe, and it is where Samuel was meant to be. Children stay in their parents’ Nests until they are ready to mate. Samuel is definitely not ready to mate; therefore he will remain in the Nest.

_Michael_

The Eldest paused his preparations as he heard His voice. He hadn’t heard Father’s voice in a long while now.

“Father.”

He said, turning around and finding him there. His Father smiled, and Michael noticed that He was sitting on a bench. The Archangel turned his head and found himself in the Garden. Father gestured him to sit next to him. Michael hesitated but sat down, guilt weighing heavily on his Grace. How could he face Father after he disobeyed?

 _Michael, I am proud of you_.

“You are?” He asked him. He felt even guiltier when he said that; His word must never be doubted.

_You have accepted Samuel. It’s very good of you._

Happiness surged and his Grace reacted to it, pulsing with light every few seconds. His Father was proud of him? Accepted Samuel, even?

“I am Samuel’s father. It is… my duty to accept and love him.”

_Do you love him?_

Michael felt shock at His question. Did he love Samuel? After he realized what Sam was, he had decided to fulfill his duty as a father. He wanted to be a good father to Samuel, just as He had. Did he love Samuel, though?

When he thought of Samuel, he thought of a happy face. A smiling fledgling that made his Grace dance in pleasure, that made him want to sing again. A fledgling that brought back the same feelings he had when he was a fledgling himself, spending time with Him and his siblings.

“Yes. Yes, I do love Samuel.”

He smiled. _Excellent, my son. There are some things you must know about your son, Michael._

“Is it about him being Lucifer’s Vessel? Lucifer can’t possess him because Samuel’s body is his own Grace’s vessel.” He said that with more passion than he intended.

_Lucifer doesn’t need a Vessel to start the Apocalypse and neither do you. Your brother is more than capable of creating a vessel for himself, although it would fit him like a cheap suit compared to Samuel. However, this is not about Lucifer. It is about your son’s development, so to speak._

“There is nothing wrong with him. He is growing in a normal pace, Father.” Michael felt obligated to defend his son. Despite the grim destiny his son has gotten away from, he is still perfect. He is Michael’s son, after all.

_Yes. He is growing at the same pace you and your brothers did; too fast for regular angels, yet too slow for the humans and Nephilims of old._

Hope flared within him, and he is sure He has seen it in his face and his Grace. “Father, what are you trying to tell me?”

_Michael, I allowed angels to have children with humans again because I changed something in the Nephilims; in their first three years, Nephilims will age at the same pace as their parents. After that, they will age as any human but when they become thirty five years old, their human aging will stop and they will become full-blooded angels, or in your case, archangel. Of course, thirty five is still a fledgling so you’ll probably have your hands full for a long while._

“Samuel will grow and shed his human visage?”

_To put it bluntly, yes. Might I give you some advice, my son?_

Michael looked up and stared into His eyes. In them, he could see the world – all of creation. His father hugged him and whispered his advice.

*

Michael thought on his Father’s advice. Of course, he will follow it but that doesn’t mean he can’t think about it. He wished for Samuel to be raised on Earth; He claimed that that would be best for Samuel’s growth and Michael didn’t doubt his Father’s words.

Yet an issue arose from that; Michael can create a vessel and remain with his son for a few days every week, but he had work to do in Heaven that he could not leave behind. Samuel’s growth could be disturbed by constant travel between the planes and Michael didn’t wish for that to happen. He needed someone he could trust. He needed someone who could keep an eye on Samuel and protect him from demons and the like. Someone strong, but unknown.

Michael visited Samuel’s nursery, smiling at his sleeping fledgling. Come to think of it, one of his brothers used to sleep like that; curled up and open-mouthed. Michael smiled and gave his son a peck on the forehead.

“Good job.” He allowed his Grace to brush against his fledgling’s. Sam gurgled happily and his Grace tried to recuperate.

He just thought of someone who was _perfect_ for the job.


	2. Aziraphale

Chapter Two:

Aziraphale

 

Aziraphale wasn’t always Aziraphale, angel and bookkeeper; he was once Aziraphael, archangel and bringer of His fire.  

Before the Fall, before the whole tree-of-knowledge fiasco, Aziraphael was lost. He was stuck in between, trying to mediate between his older brothers. Gabriel didn’t want to fight, Raphael wanted the entire fiasco to be done with, Michael hurt and Lucifer betrayed. After Lucifer’s Fall and Adam and Eve’s banishment, he felt even more lost.

After Gadreel was removed from his post on the Gates, Aziraphael volunteered to watch over the empty Garden, desperate to get away from his siblings’ squabbles. While watching over the Garden, he met Crawley. A seraphim that hid in the form of a snake and lost his way, Falling along with Lucifer. Crawley would not tell him his real name but he stayed with Aziraphael long enough to worm into the archangel’s affections.

He knew he was dangerously close to Falling but he didn’t care. For the first time since the creation of humans, he was happy. Happy listening to Crawley prattle on, but one day, the Fallen angel disappeared; he descended to Earth. Aziraphael then gave his flaming sword away when he saw Adam and Eve’s suffering in the cold Earth and he accepted his demotion and post on Earth.

When he closes his eyes, he could clearly remember the day his feet touched Earth.

_A flap of wings and he was where he was meant to be. He was finally facing the repercussions of giving his sword away; until he finds his sword he cannot come back to Heaven. Aziraphael stared at the greenery around him with barely suppressed wonder. Earth was dimmer than Heaven yet at the same time it was brighter. The colors were strange, limited but that didn’t make the world any less lively._

_A snort disturbed his study of plants. He turned around, an excuse ready to leave his tongue, expecting to find Michael or Raphael there. Instead, he found a black haired man._

_“You look stupid.” He said as a way of greeting and Aziraphael frowned. What sort of manners is Eve teaching her – oh. Not a human._

_“That’s not nice, Crawley.” He replied. The man wrinkled his nose and shrugged his shoulders; he seemed both pleased and upset. How peculiar._

_“You remember me,” He seemed a bit awed at that statement, sounding genuinely surprised. Why would Aziraphael forget him? Crawley had bothered him for more than three hundred years, after all. “but Crawley’s not my name anymore. It’s Crowley.” Crawley – no Crowley said. He then frowned and stared at Aziraphael as though he was a mystery._

_“Hey, Gate Keeper; you never told me your name.”_

_“That is true.” Aziraphael replied serenely. Crowley was very talkative back when Aziraphael was the Gate Keeper and the archangel didn’t want to be rude by cutting him off midsentence._

_Silence filled the air. Crowley twitched and Aziraphael continued to stare at him – oh what is that creature? It has strange wings with even stranger patterns and colors._

_Just as Aziraphael was about to follow the blue winged creature, Crowley blurted: “Well, what is your name?”_

_The archangel stared at the Fallen angel. Did he really not know? If he didn’t… Aziraphael knew that if this strange Fallen knew his real name then he’d leave. He’d go and Aziraphael won’t hear a word from the chatty seraphim again. Isn’t he supposed to want that?_

_He didn’t want that. “It’s Aziraphale.”_

Of course, his ruse had not lasted him forever. A lie like that could only last him for so long; making sure his Grace never touched Crowley’s was hard, but it was impossible to avoid when they were Bonding. Eventually, Crowley discovered who he really was, but he had taken it surprisingly well.

_When the explosive feeling of two Graces, fundamentally different and yet so very similar, joining together faded away, Aziraphale settled his gaze onto the other angel. Crowley’s golden eyes bore into the archangel._

_“Well,” Aziraphale prompted. “I am sure you have many things to say, so why don’t you?”_

_Crowley still did not answer his new mate, and Aziraphale was beginning to get nervous. He could hear Lucifer and Michael right now, shouting in the back of his head: “Archangels don’t get nervous!”_

_If archangels didn’t get nervous, then what was this nagging discomfort he felt in his Grace?_

_“You can ask why I didn’t tell you who I am, but what choice did I have? You didn’t tell me your name, either and you showed no indication that you wouldn’t flee or spurn me once I told you who I - !”  
His vessel emitted a sound that Aziraphale could not describe. Crowley’s mouth swallowed the sound and his hands wrapped around the archangel’s face. Azirapahle’s tongue was paralyzed and he was jolted into action when a forked tongue boldly wrapped around it. His hands moved slowly towards Crowley’s shoulders, gripping the cloth of the Fallen’s shirt, while his Grace shyly wrapped itself around its newly bonded mate._

_They didn’t need to breath, but when Crowley removed his mouth from Aziraphale’s, the archangel felt the need to gasp. His heart was beating too fast, and Crowley brought his mouth near his lover’s ear. “I am corrupting you. Lies are –hiss– quite attractive, angel.”_

_Before Aziraphale could bristle and respond that he was_ not _corrupted, Crowley whispered something other else into his ear._

_His true name._

Occasionally, Aziraphale missed Heaven. He missed being Aziraphael, archangel and adored youngest brother. But then he’d remember that Father, Lucifer and Gabriel are not there anymore, that Raphael doesn’t sing anymore, that Michael doesn’t tell stories anymore. Then, he’d see Crowley’s smirk and remember that if he ever returned to the Host, he’d have to leave him behind.

But he still missed Heaven. So far he had been good at ignoring his nostalgia, until he was given his temptation. It came wrapped in a familiar form that he had not seen since before he left Heaven. It lay on the big table he kept in his bookshop, innocently catching the light and reflecting it onto the archangel’s glasses. He grabbed it off the table and gripped the familiar hilt and with a _cackle_ , his sword burst into flame. The flames purified the touch of mortals and it began to shift and twist into its true form.

He dropped the sword like it was Sin. If the sword morphed back to its true, monstrous form, Heaven would know for certain that he had accomplished his mission.

Now that he had his sword, he was honor bound to take it back to Michael and present it to him as a proof of his successful mission. On the other hand, Aziraphale was bound by his bond to never leave Crowley behind.

He sighed and sat on the plush armchair behind him. What was he to do? What was the correct thing to do? How would his father prefer him to progress with this development? Should he fly back to Heaven and take on his responsibilities as a celestial being? Or should he remain here in Earth and fulfill his duties as a mate?

He sighed again. He wished Crowley had never presented him with his sword.

Being the youngest archangel, Aziraphale spent more time in his Father’s nest than others. While his siblings’ were off fulfilling their duties, Aziraphale was busy soaking up the warmth of their Father’s love and memorizing his siblings’ Graces. That is why he recognized his brother, when a small tendril of his Grace wrapped itself around his own, caressing it.

“Michael.” He said, bowing his head. He wasn’t stupid enough to be rude in front of a brother that knew all of his weaknesses. He let out an involuntary screech when Michael’s Grace zapped his own, all mirth and joy, while his Grace danced around the room, happy. Aziraphale stared at his brother, surprised to see his eldest brother and not his cold commander. Something had changed in His first celestial child.

“Aziraphael my youngest brother, it brings me joy to see you once more.” Michael told him as his Grace retreated from his younger brother. Aziraphale then noticed that his brother was not wearing anyone, but was possessing a vessel of his own creation. Curious.

“I… It brings me joy to see you as well, Michael.” He replied, forcing himself not to look up, where he knew Crowley was sleeping. He was happy Crowley had not picked up a pleasant habit from humans, but being asleep right now is not a good idea!

Michael saw his brother twitch and felt his distress in his Grace. Protectiveness soared through his being and he knew his brother saw it. His Grace stretched out, cooing and wrapping itself around Aziraphael’s. It was when his own essence touched his brother’s that he knew something was amiss.

“Brother.” He said, taking three quick steps towards him. “Your Grace is Bonded to another. Pray tell, which of our Father’s damned seduced you?”

“He is not damned.”

 “Aziraphael.” Michael said, his voice carrying a warning, and echoing in the room. His Grace was no longer pleased, instead it was angry. Righteous fury was not a nice look on Michael’s vessel’s face, Aziraphale noted.  Michael noticed his brother’s fear and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself.

“I will not hurt you – You have my word.” He said, pained. Did his brother think he was going to kill him? He, Michael, watched as Aziraphael came to existence. He taught the youngest archangel his first words, made up stories for him and even taught him how to fly and fight! Though he should treat all of his siblings the same, saying that Aziraphael had a special place in his heart would only be the truth. He even gifted his brother with his sword of flame, which made Aziraphael’s action of giving it away all the more painful. How could he allow his relationship with his brother deteriorate so horribly?

Trusting his brother’s word, Aziraphale replied: “He goes by Crowley, although he called himself Crawley back when I first met him.”

Michael looked like he was ready to plunge a blade into Aziraphale’s head. His Grace was choking the younger archangel’s, holding and pinning it down. It wasn’t comfortable, but the disappointment he felt radiating from his eldest brother pained him. “The serpent?! Why Aziraphael? Why bond with him?!”

Aziraphale shrugged but that movement was accompanied with a grimace of discomfort as his Grace shuddered, still stuck within his older brother’s Grace. “I… care greatly for him.”

The word “love” constantly evaded him, even though he knew it described what he felt for his best friend. To him “love” was a lazy night, spent snuggling his older siblings and father. The word held too many memories related to his family before the Fall, and he did not wish to utter it, not even to express his feelings to his Bonded.

It was then that Crowley came down the stairs, sunglasses perched on his head and a mischievous glint in his yellow eyes. “Aziraphale!” He called, his excited steps faltering when he saw Aziraphale and Michael. Father only knows what Crowley saw; his Bonded’s Grace trapped inside another’s while his physical form was cornered by the owner of the Grace.

Crowley flew to a rage.

But a Seraph is no match for the oldest archangel. With a wave of his hand, Crowley found himself pinned in his place, unable to move. His vertical pupils focused on Aziraphale and the blonde gave him a reassuring smile.

“What did he call you?” Michael asked through gritted teeth. Now that his attention was primarily focused onto the other angel in the room, his grip on the youngest archangel faded. “Aziraphael, what did the serpent call you?”

“Michael, peace. I prefer to be called Aziraphale these days, just as he prefers to be called Crowley.”

Michael’s Grace began to viciously pock and prod at the trapped Seraph’s. He doubled back and released his control over the other angel, once he recognized its owner. He moved his body so that it was now blocking Aziraphale from Crowley’s eye sight, while his Grace encircled the other archangel’s, keeping Crowley’s Grace away.

“Suriel. I thought you dead.” Michael hissed hatefully.

“No. I thought working from downside could be more fun.”

“How is it, then?”

“Not as fun as I thought.”

*

Aziraphale sat in the middle, between Crowley and his brother, trying to drink his tea in peace, but failing. The archangel felt as though he was trapped in _another_ civil war. Crowley glared at Michael, sipping his tea angrily. Michael glared back, ignoring the cooling tea that was placed in front of him.

Oh how could he ever forget that Michael and Crowley hated each other?

“What do _you_ do when you are not busy grabbing the souls of children and corrupting innocent brothers?” Michael asked, his Grace wrapped around Aziraphale’s like a blanket. Crowley’s yellow eyes turned white for a second, his Grace trying to push the older archangel’s Grace away from his mate’s.

“Looking for other children of yours to reap.”

“My dear… do not joke of such things.” Aziraphale advised, feeling the anger radiate from his brother’s essence. Michael never forgave Crowley for grabbing his Nephilim daughter and her mother’s soul, while Crowley never forgave Michael for attacking him and nearly killing him afterwards.

“I am sorry, dear.” Crowley said, not sounding apologetic. Finding that his Grace could not remove Michael’s off Aziraphale’s own Grace, the angel of death wrapped his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “But your brother did not apologize for attacking me; I don’t see why I should spare his feelings.”

Michael’s shoulders shook in restrained anger. Aziraphale sent waves of comforting energy through his Grace. Michael’s Grace shuddered when it received the energy. “You killed my daughter, Suriel! My daughter and the woman I loved!”

“For the last time you overgrown turkey: it. was, their. time.” Crowley hissed, punctuating the last four words of his sentence. Aziraphale bit his lip to keep himself from laughing when he imagined Michael as a turkey. “I was doing my job!” Crowley finished.

“Father said it was not!”

“Their names were written in my book!”

“Enough!” Aziraphale exclaimed, his Grace pushing Michael’s away. When Crowley’s Grace tried to wrap itself around it, his Grace pushed that away too. “Michael I understand your anger, but Crowley –Suriel– truly believes that their names were written onto his Book of Death and Crowley,” Aziraphale added this when he saw his mate’s wickedly satisfied smile. “let your anger go! It has been many countless years since Michael attacked you.”

A sullen silence filled the room as both Michael and Crowley wore the same expression of naughty children who had been reprimanded. The youngest archangel happily sipped his tea. Aah, blessed silence.

“Sssssooo, what do you want?” Crowley said, his leg twitching in agitation. His forked tongue slipped out of his mouth and made more hissing sounds. Michael looked disgusted with the Angel of Merciful Death, but he began to tell his tale.

*

Later, when Aziraphale held little Samuel in his arms, he wondered what he was doing.

“Why did I agree to this?” He bemoaned his sad fate. Crowley stared suspiciously at the baby, his head peaking slightly from the edge of the sofa he was hiding behind.

“Is it supposed to be so noisy?”

“Samuel is not an it, dear – and how should I know if he’s supposed to be this noisy? I never had children before!”

Exasperated, Michael gently took his baby from Aziraphale’s arms and began to make strange faces. The baby instantly quieted and began to giggle.

“No,” Michael said to Crowley, rocking his son back and forth. “Babies are not supposed to be _that_ noisy.”


	3. Bonus: Misadventures of Raising an Archangel-to-be #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for being late! God, I've been busy, busy, busy! I've had two exams and an essay and a presentation to submit! I can't wait until Spring Break.  
> Hope you forgive me, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Bonus:

Misadventures of Raising an Archangel-to-be #1

 

“How old is he, anyway?”

Crowley asked, twisting his nose at the sight of the baby that was occupying the crib in front of him. Aziraphale sighed and placed a brown bear doll next to the child. The archangel’s Grace caressed Sam’s and he replied: “Six months at least, dear.”

“Six months, twenty days, four hours and forty-nine minutes little brother.” Michael said from his place against the wall of Sam’s newly Grace-constructed bedroom. “You are slipping, little brother. Perhaps it is due to the undeniable influence of _dear_ Suriel here.”

Michael is the only person who can make the word ‘dear’ sound like an insult. Aziraphale sighed as Crowley hissed at the eldest archangel: “It’s Crowley, you stuffed peacock!”

Before Michael could retaliate, probably with his angel blade, Samuel let out a loud cry. It wasn’t his _my-Grace-is-itchy_ cry, or his _I-am-lonely_ cry. No, it was a strange and new cry. Aziraphale thought himself rather impressive for coming up with names to those different cries.

Michael was the first to act, but Aziraphale was closest so he quickly picked up the crying infant and held him close.

“What’s wrong with him?” Crowley asked, his Grace hesitantly moving towards the Nephilim’s before Michael pushed it away violently. Michael’s face filled with panic as he realized something: “I don’t know!”

Aziraphale tried his hand at reading Sam’s Grace but he too came out empty handed. Sam’s Grace was content – there was no reason for the Nephilim to cry.  Isn’t Samuel half human? With that thought in mind, Aziraphale hesitantly offered: “Maybe it has something to do with his human half?”

The following event was surprising, and if Aziraphale was being honest, rather funny. Michael could have summoned the spirit of any human whose soul resided in Heaven, and Crowley, being an Angel of Death could have delved into the mind of any dying human, but instead they both began to panic.

“Has he caught the Angel-Pox?”

“Or the Grace-Shredder?”

Aziraphale realized that both of them have ignored or, more likely, hadn’t heard what he said. Although the youngest archangel thought that both of them worrying about the baby was rather cute, their panic was aggravating the young Nephilim even more. Aziraphale tried to remember something from a book her read a long time on child rearing. What was it that human children needed?

Sleep. Hygiene.

Diapers?

Aziraphale discreetly brought Michael’s progeny’s bottom closer to his nose. The baby smelled clean, at least. Aziraphale thanked Him for that; the only reason Samuel was wearing diapers was because he was still dressed in the clothes his mother had dressed him in.

The blonde angel briefly wondered how he could shift diaper-duty to Crowley; he heard that changing it can be a rather challenging task.

But then he was brought back to the world by the child’s increased cries and Crowley and Michael’s increasingly ridiculous list of sicknesses that most fledglings didn’t even catch.

What else was there on the list?  Sleep. Hygiene. Diapers…

Sustenance?

Didn’t human babies drink milk from their mother’s breast? Aziraphale also knew that these days humans also fed their babies some sort of powdered version of milk inside bottles.

He snapped his fingers and a bottle of milk appeared in his hands. It wasn’t the best – now that he remembers Nephilims need sustenance, he also remembers a time when herbs were gathered from The Garden and mixed with the milk to enhance its nutritional values. For now, this will have to do.

Aziraphale guided the rubber nipple to the baby’s wailing mouth. Once the liquid touched the infant’s mouth, Samuel calmed down. He even raised his hands and began to slap the bottle playfully.

Looking at the two now gawking angels, Aziraphale very clearly states: “I love you both very much, but you are a pair of idiots.”

*

A silence spread in the apartment Crowley and Aziraphale shared. However, the silence wasn’t the comforting, serene kind of silence. No, it was a silence that could be described as the eerie calm before the storm.

Crowley stared at the quiet baby. Aziraphale was in their bed, both his Grace and vessel worn out from taking care of the child. Samuel was certainly Michael’s son; he was too spirited to be a mortal’s spawn. Many angels chose not to have children, some didn’t because they were warriors first and parents second, but most didn’t because fledglings need a lot of attention to grow strong.

An archangel-to-be needed just as much, if not more, attention as a regular fledgling. It has been a little over a month since Aziraphale was tasked with the care of the baby Nephilim. That was a month of Aziraphale being too busy to pay Crowley any attention.

Crowley glared at the baby. Just like Michael; monopolizing _his_ mate’s time.  Ever since Michael discovered his youngest brother’s marital status, he had taken it upon himself to check on them every two days, instead of three like he was originally planning. Every time Crowley tried to get intimate with his mate, Michael would be there, shoving Crowley’s Grace away from Aziraphale’s. On the occasions that Crowley tried to get intimate the human way, Samuel was there to distract his mate.

The Nephilim whimpered in his sleep, trying to move his little arms. Crowley observed the baby with an interested glance; Samuel was already seven months old, but he was as small as a newborn.

“Guess you got your aging from our side of the family, huh?”

Crowley asked, placing his hand on the child’s head. His hand patted the fine hairs on Samuel’s head and fell on the baby’s forehead. At the beginning he didn’t notice anything; as the Angel of Death he visited Hell often, and both Aziraphale and he were pretty warm, but Samuel’s forehead was clammy and too hot for a child of his size. 

“You’re a bit warm…” He says, a bit worried. Aziraphale made him read a book on child-rearing few days ago didn’t he? He can’t quite remember what it said on taking care of sick infants, though; he was too angry over an argument he had with Michael.

He can’t take Samuel to the human doctor; Samuel’s wings are beginning to manifest and trying to hide them with his Grace may not be a good idea for the Nephilim’s development. He can’t just snap the sickness away either, because it could be an angelic sickness and everyone knows that trying to heal a fledgling with Grace is definitely a bad idea.

So there is one thing to do.

Wake Aziraphale.

He is going to do just that, when Samuel lets out a whimper. Slowly, torturously, he turns his head around and he sees Samuel staring at him with wide, painful eyes. When he said painful, he didn’t mean that Samuel was in pain, but that the eyes made _him_ feel pain and like a sorry excuse of an angel-slash-uncle.

“No, I am not going to take care of Michael’s fluffy baby _hiss_.” Crowley said to himself. He heard a small whimper – ah. He sent a silent prayer to his father, asking for strength.

Later, when Aziraphale finds Crowley holding Samuel and wagging his forked tongue in front of the healthy-looking infant, Crowley is quick to defend himself and say: “I am just holding him because _you_ were tired!”

Aziraphale would then laugh and pour himself and Crowley a cup of tea, while Samuel’s bottle slowly cooled next to the cups. When he finally stops laughing, he’ll smile serenely and say: “Dear, don’t try to _bullshit_ me.”

*

Michael hates being the leader of all angels. Before he became Samuel’s father it was a fine way to waste time until the apocalypse, but now? Now presiding over the affairs of his younger siblings was a chore; it took him far away from his son and allowed others to care for him as though they were his parents.

He thought of missed moment. What if his son started flying when he wasn’t there? What if his son spoke his first words and he wasn’t there? What if Samuel thought of Aziraphael and Suriel as his parents?

…No, Samuel was _his_ son and so he had better taste than to think of _Suriel_ of all angels as his father.

Still, it probably won’t hurt to visit Samuel now – it’s midnight in London, and he’s probably sleeping but surely Samuel would appreciate his visit, even if he is not conscious. Michael fetches his vessel from the dimensional pocket he had stashed it in, and then quickly transported himself to his son’s room.

Michael placed his hands on the edge of the crib, watching his child sleep.

Samuel is so small. He is already nine months old, but his head is the size of Michael’s fist. Michael can’t help but wish that his child would remain like this; small, innocent and precious.

But he knows Samuel won’t – can’t stay a child forever. Michael’s hand went down and began to caress the child’s head, the fine strands of brown hair flowing through Michael’s fingers like silk.

Aziraphael is the grandest proof of that fact. Back before the other angels were created, when the world consisted only of Him and the archangels, they all used to say that Aziraphael was His most cherished. Aziraphael is the first child Michael helped raise, and now that child is grown. Grown up to call himself Aziraphale, mated to _Suriel_ of all the creatures in the world, and a defender and a warrior.

Sometimes Michael missed the child Aziraphael used to be – missed the time when He and all of his siblings were together; a big family.

“Ggggaaa…” A sleepy moan interrupted Michael’s musing. Looking down, his eyes met the sleepy eyes of his child.

“Hello Samuel.” The Archangel brought his head close to Samuel’s head, and pecked him on the forehead. “It’s me, Father.”

“Aaaaa…” Samuel replied, and Michael found himself being rewarded with a big, slobbery gummy smile. Michael smiled and lowered his hand so that it was now on Samuel’s cheek.

He should really thank Aziraphael for taking care of his child. To think that Samuel would be spending his days alone without them is far too horrible. To think that Aziraphael and _Suriel_ received those smiles on daily basis. To think that they are…

A sudden revelation began to crawl around Michael’s mind, and it twisted his thoughts and an ugly emotion reared its head.

This isn’t Samuel’s first smile. Those sounds Samuel made were not his first. Michael was not around for those firsts. His brother and his mate were there, and they will probably be there for Samuel’s many other firsts. Aziraphael and Suriel will be there for Samuel any time the child needs them, while Michael will only be like a distant relative that occasionally visits.

To Samuel, Michael wouldn’t be as precious as Samuel is to Michael.

A sudden thought appeared inside Michael’s mind. Suriel and Aziraphael may experience many of Samuel’s firsts, but surely they have yet to experience the child’s _first word_? That will be one first his brother and his loathsome mate could not steal from him.

“Samuel,” Addressed Michael, using his best _I-am-the-leader_ voice. A thrill of excitement ran through his Grace when he thought of Samuel calling him _father_. Switching to Enochian, he said: “Say Father.”

“Baaah.” Samuel articulated.

“No Samuel, _Father._ Say _Fah_ - _ther_.”

Instead of saying anything, Samuel just gave Michael a confused smile. Michael cooed at his son’s gummy smile. A small tendril of his Grace wrapped around his son’s, encouragement and pride being communicated without need of mortal tongue. “Say _Fah-ther_ , Samuel.”

“Baaahh…” The child cooed back, raising his arm and his fingers wrapped around Michael’s in a surprisingly strong grip. “Paaaaaa…..”

“No Samuel, _Faah-ther_. Come on son, I know you can do it.”

Samuel’s small eyebrows crossed, and Michael smiled at the comical expression his son had adopted. Samuel then insistently said: “Paapaa!”

Michael sighed and prepared to repeat his instruction again, when a laugh entered the room. Michael didn’t have to turn around to know that Aziraphael was standing behind him.

A part of him was proud of how well his brother masked his Grace, but another part of him was extremely ashamed of _not_ having noticed his brother’s entry. When he turned around, he saw Aziraphael standing in the hallway, wearing a bathrobe with a bottle in his hand.

“Samuel’s first words! How cute!”

Michael’s first reaction to that was surprise. When did Samuel say anything of noteworthy? He simply continued babbling in the children often do. Samuel chose that moment to tighten his grip on Michael’s hand.

“Paaahpa!” The child called out, releasing Michael’s finger and raising both arms toward him, gesturing to be picked up.

A flash of warmth entered Michael. Paahpa, papa; is that not the word some mortal children use when addressing their father? How could he have not realized it?

His Grace flooded with love and joy, and guessing by Samuel’s giggling and happily squirming Grace, Samuel felt it too. Michael slowly picked his son up, bringing him close to his chest, where his vessel’s heart was beating.

“You do know who I am.” He whispered to his son, closing his eyes and trying hard not to let the wetness in his eyes escape.

 _‘Strange creatures, humans; they are such wet beings.’_ Michael thought to himself, as wet trails marked his cheek, while a smile stretched his lips wide.

Aziraphale smiled and after leaving Samuel’s midnight bottle on the counter by the door, turned around and closed the room door, allowing father and son to have their private moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Mary and John


	4. Mary and John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who is reading this story and gave it kudos. Special thanks to salte and Sanna_Black_Slytherin for commenting :D

Chapter Three:

Mary and John

 

When Mary gave birth to Dean, she thought her life was perfect. No more monsters, no more ghosts! Just her and her small but lovely family; she finally got her apple pie life. She enjoyed every moment of being a wife and a mother.

She enjoyed cooking her husband a warm, homemade meal. She enjoyed singing to her son and playing with him. She enjoyed late night snuggles with her husband, and while it was annoying sometimes, she enjoyed comforting her son and chasing away his nightmares,

Eventually, John asked her if she wanted another baby – she was so happy!

Another child, another life she will give instead of take. Another little angel she’ll get to raise. They had problems conceiving however and it took them two years of trying to get it right.

John was quite passionate that day – and very tender, too. Few weeks after that day, she discovered she was pregnant! Her pregnancy was surprisingly easy and she felt time fly and on the beginning of her nine month, she gave birth to Sam.

He was the most beautiful creature Mary had ever seen, just like his brother. John smiled when he saw his son and said affectionately: “Little mister looks just like his mother!”

Mary didn’t understand what he meant, since little Sammy looked like his father, but before Mary could say anything, little Dean raised his arms and said: “Sammy!”

Mary smiled at her eldest son and waved one arm, gesturing for him to climb onto her small hospital bed, while the other still held her sleeping newborn.

“Here you go Dean; say ‘Hello’ to Sammy.” Mary said, carefully slipping the slumbering baby into his older brother’s waiting arms. Dean’s small face lit up in a smile and he observed his little brother with unsurpassed awe.

“Careful – you have to support his neck, darling.” Mary told her son, carefully moving her hands to fix Dean’s hold on his little brother. Even though Dean was now holding Samuel correctly, and carefully too, Mary kept a watchful eye on her son.

“He’s so red!” Dean suddenly declared, his eyebrows crossing. “Is he sick?”

John laughed his beautiful laugh, his voice echoing in the small hospital room. “No, Dean.” He told his eldest child patiently, kneeling down so that he could meet Dean’s eyes. “All babies are born red, Dean.”

Dean pouted. “Even me?”

“You were the reddest baby I have ever seen in my life, Dean!”

Mary gave her husband’s shoulder a playful punch. “Hey! Don’t tease your son, John!” Then, she giggled and whispered lowly to her eldest: “Ignore Daddy, Dean; you were the first baby he had ever seen. You can’t trust him.”

Dean probably didn’t understand what she said, but the idea that his father had gotten reprimanded, even if it’s only in play, clearly pleased him. His face glowed and he carefully shifted Sam in his hold.

Suddenly, the glow vanished from his face and was replaced with a serious face. Part of Mary wanted to laugh when she saw such an earnest expression on a four years old, but the other part of her was worried that such an old look was plastered on her young son’s face.

“Mommy,” Dean said. “Sammy and I are gonna have lots of fun, right?”

Mary wanted to laugh at herself. Of course Dean would be worried about that; what else _could_ he be worried about?

“Of course Dean.” She told him, giving her son a kiss on his forehead. “You two are going to be best friends.”

*

John slumped on the couch and yawned. He fingered the remote in his hand before he pressed the ‘on’ button. There was a movie he had wanted to see for a long time and he’d be damned if he missed it _again_.

Sammy is a good boy, but he had the habit of crying for attention _every_ time this movie airs. Honestly, if John did not know any better, he’d say that Samuel cried on purpose every time. Setting his youngest son’s habit of bad timings aside, John was a little worried about Sammy’s growth. He remembered Dean growing like a weed; going from a pintsized living doll to an overactive monkey.

Sammy was still so… _small_.

Tomorrow he’s going to discuss Sammy’s growth with Mary and maybe arrange a visit to a doctor. It’s unnatural for infants to remain that small when they are nearing their sixth month.

John smiled as he thought of Sammy. He was small, and prone to crying at the most ridiculous times, but he was John and Mary’s child – and that made him very precious. He can’t wait until Sam begins to speak, to take his first steps and play with his toys. Most of all, he’s looking forward to watching Sam and Dean grow up together; to see them toss ball at each other.

He looked forward to seeing them forge a bond that no matter how much it stretched would never break. He never had any siblings, and he was often jealous of other families who had brothers and sisters. No matter how many times they fought, they always forgave each other and remained friends.

They were never lonely.

Suddenly, John’s spine tingled. He straightened his back – what was that?! Instincts from his time in the marines flared up. A sense of unease filled his being, and he suddenly wanted to check on his children.

Taking deep breaths, he tried to calm himself. What could he be scared of? He is in his house, what could harm his family? The feeling did not leave him though, so ignoring his movie, John slowly climbed over the stairs. He was careful not to make any sound.

He peaked into Sammy’s room and caught a flash of yellow hair, like sunflowers on a bright summer day. Sammy’s happy gurgle filled the quiet room. “Mary?” He called out.

“John?” He heard her tired reply. But it wasn’t from inside Sam’s room. John turned his head and saw Mary coming out of their room, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “Is Sammy hungry?”

Panic soon gripped his heart; Mary was out here, not inside with Sammy but someone else was _there_. Panic quickly became anger – who dared attack their home, his family? Desperation then overtook him, they had Sammy. He had to get Sammy and his family to safety.

Blood filled his head, and he felt dizzy. But not dizzy enough that he didn’t remember how to fight; he threw himself into the room and came face to face with one of the three men who occupied his son’s room.

Three men. How did they enter his home? How could he have missed them?

The blonde, whom he had mistaken for Mary at first, was holding his son. He knew he shouldn’t attack him first; the man held his son, and he was skinny like a toothpick. The blond may have represented the lowest risk, but _he was holding his son_ and John is an angry father. He lunged towards the man, but the blonde was surprisingly fast; he quickly side stepped John’s attack, and John managed to catch himself before he wrecked his son’s crib with his weight.

He stood up and glared at the blonde, but his view was quickly obscured by one of the other men. The man straightened his leather jacket and hissed at him. What sort of an asshole wore sunglasses indoors, anyway?

“- _hiss_ \- touch him and I’ll kill you.” The man said, but the last member of the group placed his hand on the hissing man’s shoulder. He looked up and John’s breath caught in his throat; he was looking at a man who _looked just like him_. Sure, there were few differences but if John and this man stood together, anyone will mistake them for siblings or heck, twins.

“Calm down. We have what we want; let’s leave him and go.”

He stiffened when he heard that, and he tried to lunge at the men but he found himself unable to move. His tried to move his hands, his legs, _anything_ but nothing would move. “What the hell?” He muttered to himself, before he exclaimed: “Give me back my son, you creeps!”

The asshole-with-sunglasses smirked and walked towards him. “He’s not yours,” He whispered into John’s ear, and the man found that ridiculous because Sammy had John’s mother’s mouth and his father’s ears. “He’s _ours_.”

“The hell he is!” He protested, struggling against his invisible bonds – and isn’t that a crazy thought? Invisible bonds? He will figure out his sanity later, for now he needed to get Sammy back from those freaks.

He hears something traveling in the air, and so does the guy with the sunglasses. He turns his head quick enough to get a bullet between his eyes. “Let go off my son and husband before I put a bullet through you two, too.”

Mary was holding her hunting rifle and if John wasn’t already in love with her before, he sure is now. Sammy’s cries echoed in the background, obviously disturbed by the sound of the rifle.

“Crowley, are you alright?” The blonde asked, walking towards the bleeding man in front of John. Mary tightened her grip on the rifle when she saw her son being held by the blond. She pointed her firearm at him.

The blonde adjusted Sammy in his grip, and with one of his hands freed, he lazily flicked his arm in Mary’s direction. John’s eyes widened as the gun actually flew from his wife’s grip. The man with the sunglasses, _who should be dead_ , actually stood up and dusted his leather pants.

“I am fine angel. Just a bit bruised.” He told the blond as he readjusted his glasses – and were those eyes _gold_?

“Let’s go,” The man who had stopped ‘Crowley’ said. “Before we do something we regret.”

And with that, the three men vanished, taking with them John’s smallest treasure, leaving an empty room with a puddle of blood.

*

Monsters had come into her home and taken her baby away. Mary supposed that she deserved it; she had grown lax in her protections and they had managed to slip into her home, unnoticed and spirit her baby away.

John hadn’t taken her explanation about the supernatural too well; he accepted it, certainly. How could he not when he had seen what he had seen?  John was angry with Mary though; he asked her why she hadn’t told him about ‘what goes bump at night’. He told her that if she had told him, they could have worked together to protect their family.

_“It’s your fault Sammy’s been taken!”_

_“Oh yeah? Well I wasn’t the one_ watching movies _when those monsters entered our home!”_

_“I don’t have to take it this from you!”_

_“Well I don’t either!”_

“Shh, don’t cry Dean.” Mary whispered quietly to her son, rocking him back and forth. Dean sniffled and wiped his snotty nose on her shirt.

“I want Sammy, mommy.”

Mary felt as though her heart was pierced by a knife. She closed her eyes, still rocking her eldest son, trying to hold back her tears. “I know Dean. Mommy wants Sammy too.”

Large hands wrapped around her middle and she felt John’s warm breath on her neck. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to; Mary felt John’s hot tears on the cool flesh of her neck. He smelled of alcohol and sweat.

“Daddy wants Sammy too, Dean.” Mary said, brokenly.

In her husband’s arms she broke; shaking and crying while her son did the same in her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Misadventures of Raising an Archangel-to-be #2


	5. Bonus:  Misadventures of Raising an Archangel-to-be #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks you everyone for reading and your unending patience!   
> Special thanks to Sanna_Black_Slytherin who commented and I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!  
> I extend my gratitude to DiningattheRitz.  
> Happy reading!

 

Bonus:

Misadventures of Raising an Archangel-to-be #2

 

 “I once read that it is essential for human children to communicate with other children.” Aziraphale told Crowley. The other angel looked up from his attempts at coaxing the two years old Samuel to walk towards him.

Aziraphale knew that Samuel was not going to walk anytime soon; he may be two years old, but he was still physically nearing one year old. Any regular human would be worried, but all three angels who were taking care of Samuel knew that the Nephilim’s slow growth was related to his angelic heritage.

Crowley’s golden orbs gave Aziraphale an uninterested stare. As he returned to his futile attempts, he asked: “So? Samuel is ours – we don’t need human handbooks to tell us how to raise him.”

“Samuel is half-human; don’t you think we should,” The blond angel began to wave his arms, searching for the right way to say it. “let him socialize with human infants?”

The Nephilim cooed and rolled away from Crowley. Samuel lifted himself with his arms and then began to shakily float towards Aziraphale’s now still hands, his wings still getting used to his weight.

“No,” Crowley said, plucking Samuel from the air and into his arms. “Samuel does not need humans; he just needs us.”

“Possessive arse.” Aziraphale quietly muttered to himself, before he said to Crowley: “You don’t know that.”

The other angel was placing the small Nephilim on the ground, standing up. As his Grace began to tickle Samuel’s, Crowley said: “Well, tell me angel: what can the monkeys offer Samuel that we can’t?”

“The companionship of other children?” Aziraphale offered, before he quickly added: “Excluding you, of course.”

While Crowley began to protest Aziraphale’s claim, the blond quickly swiped Samuel towards him. “Besides, we can’t keep Samuel locked up in the bookshop or your apartment. He needs to meet other people if we want him to grow.”

Crowley folded his arms, not prepared to give in but knowing that he had lost the fight anyways. “Fine, how do you plan on stopping Samuel from flying or turning a human into a teething toy?”

“He’s old enough for us to bind his wings without fear of damage – and as long as one of is around, our Graces can keep Samuel’s from any mischief.” Aziraphale looked down and stared at the book he had left open on his lap. “I am glad you brought up the subject of Sam’s teeth though; did you know he was chewing on your leather boots few days ago?”

Crowley stilled when his mate delivered the news. He was no longer holding Samuel on the ground. Finding himself free from Crowley’s grip, the young Nephilim floated up to the black haired angel’s head, his little hands trying to pull Crowley’s sunglasses from his face. Once he succeeded, he promptly shoved the accessory inside his mouth.

Silence stretched between, and Aziraphale who was not good with silence, quickly broke it and said: “Uh, let me grab our coats and visit the park nearby, shall we?”

He said it as a question, but he knew that Crowley would comply whether he wanted to or not. Crowley does not enjoy being separated from his mate – not even for two seconds. His lover’s clinginess is quite endearing and useful at times like these, but more often than not it was just annoying. Especially when he was trying to finish a good book.

As Aziraphale carried Crowley’s and Samuel’s coats with him, he heard Crowley’s loud grumbles. Peering his head through the open door, he saw Crowley holding Samuel with a determined expression on his face.

“Samuel.” Crowley said, and Aziraphale may have been slightly worried that his mate was going to smite the Nephilim for chewing on his favorite shoes – granted, Crowley could always fix them but the angel was awfully protective of his shoes. “You mustn’t chew on my shoes; who knows what sort of… _germs_ you can come to contact with if you do?”

And Aziraphale couldn’t resist the string of giggles he let out; his mate worried about Samuel? Coupled with utterly ridiculous scene of him reprimanding a child who could barely understand them?

While Crowley flushed red, arguing that “ _it’s not what you think!_ ”, Aziraphale handed his partner his stiff leather coat while he began to button Samuel in his pale blue coat. Thank goodness it was he who had shopped for Samuel’s clothes. When Crowley did it, he came back with small leather jackets and a dress that definitely did not fit little boys.

Crowley argued that he and Aziraphale had worn a similar cloth when they were in Rome and Greece. Nevertheless, that dress remains in the dark corner of Samuel’s wardrobe, although Crowley enjoys dressing Samuel in it whenever he could.

“I don’t see _why_ we need to wear coats.” Crowley grumbled while Aziraphale hummed a happy tune, Samuel gurgling happily in his arms. “Well dear, we do have to keep appearance, do we not?”

Later, much _later_ , they are both exhausted from running around behind Samuel, making sure he doesn’t trip – or Father forbid _eat sand_. For a child who can only crawl when his wings are bound, he is _fast_.

Aziraphale’s just thankful that they managed to turn back that poor human boy back into, well _human._ It couldn’t have been a fun experience, being a chewing toy. Crowley surprises him with a wide grin and says: “Let’s do that again.”

Aziraphale vows _not_ to do that _ever_ again. Samuel can have all the human friends he wants when he attends school, until then, well there’s always books. People in books are nice and helpful.

Imaginary people are still people – right?

*

Night time is Michael’s time.

It wasn’t at the beginning, of course. After his first visit during the night, he realized that no one had missed him. Although angels didn’t need rest, most angels, including Raphael, preferred to spend the “night” (never mind the fact that Host had no concept of time) resting their Grace or visiting The Garden, tending to the plants and holding music concerts or contests.

Michael thanked his Father for his interference, for what else could it be?

So every day, under the cloak of night, Michael visits his Samuel. Sometimes, Samuel is awake and ready to play and communicate with his father. Most of the times, however, Samuel is curled within his crib, sleeping peacefully.

Michael convinces himself that it doesn’t matter – that he’s happy with just seeing his son.

His child is still precious, still small and innocent. Michael is greatly thankful to his brother, and, if he is being honest, to Suriel too, that fat worthless materialistic _pig_ , but sometimes he hated them both with great vengeance. He hated them for being there when he couldn’t, he hated that they had a freedom he could only hope to one day possess after he strikes Lucifer down for the last time.

He doesn’t want to think of Lucifer.

So instead, he leans down and observes his son. Samuel’s going to be handsome by human standards, he is sure of it. His Grace shone with great light that the Morning Star once possessed – and there he goes thinking of his fallen brother.

Thinking of Lucifer hurts. Thinking of Lucifer reminds him of a time when all he had to worry about was to stop Gabriel and Lucifer from picking on Raphael – a time when his Father had not left their Nest, a time that sent great jolts of joy through his Grace.

Those jolts of joy were nothing more than poison now, for how could he delight in those moments when he knew that his time with his siblings is never coming back?

A whimper brought him out of his musing. Samuel was twisting in his crib, his hand gripping a ridiculously large plush toy bear to his chest. Faint sounds of displeasure left his shaking lips, and Michael carefully slips his arm under Samuel’s tiny body, lifting him up so that he was now cradling Samuel to himself.

“Shhhh my son…” Michael said, rocking Samuel back and forth. His Grace twisted around Samuel’s, showing Samuel how much he adored him – how much he _loved_ him. What usually brought his child so much calm, however, did not seem to work this time. Michael brings Samuel’s ear close to his vessel’s mouth. “I do not know what haunts you, my child.”

Michael wished he had his harp with him; Samuel would enjoy the music it made. The sounds of Heaven, however, may deafen any passing human and Michael isn’t willing to bring the attention of any angel who may hear the song. So instead, he settles for humming the tune of a song he used to sing to Aziraphael when he was a child.

“I do not know what haunts you,” He repeated. He closed his eyes and sat on the rocking chair Aziraphael kept in the room. “whatever it is, however, I will protect you from it..”

It won’t do, he knows, to spend the small precious time he has remembering the past or hating his brother and his mate. Fantasies of whisking Samuel away and celebrating his existence will remain just that, fantasies – at least for now. This time of separation won’t be long, and once Samuel becomes thirty five Michael will show him the world. He will show him the hidden beauties of the world, the glories of the sunken Atlantis, but most importantly, Michael will show Samuel how much the child truly means to him.

For now, he will love and care for Samuel during those special stolen moments, secretly and carefully, until the day when he can openly be a “father” to his son.

“That’s a promise, Samuel.”

Michael does not notice the unfamiliar ball of Grace which leaves the room, too preoccupied with easing his son’s night terrors.

*

Rarely does Michael find himself free of his duties or mindless angels waiting to receive guidance and orders.

Today was one of those days.

He doesn’t know what happened, but to be honest he didn’t really care either. Apparently some souls had managed to escape their personal heavens and were ruining other people’s heaven. Raphael promised to take care of the situation, so Michael decided to grasp the golden opportunity and visit his son.

Today was a strange day.

His darling son, the light of his life is running. Azirapale and Crowley were _chasing his three years old._ Michael didn’t know what was stranger; his son, who was still crawling just a week ago, was running, or that he was able to outrun both Aziraphale and his mate.

Also, Samuel is naked.

Michael collected his Grace and coiled it around Samuel’s, tickling it. Samuel’s physical body fell to the ground, giggling and curling into himself, body and Grace both struggling to escape from Michael’s relentless assault. The archangel moved and pulled his son’s naked, and very wet form off the ground.

“Hello precious.” Michael whispers to his son’s wet locks, and a happy giggle is his reply.

“Papa! Papa!”

“Yes, it’s me Samuel.”

Pressing a kiss to his child’s head, Michael raised his eyebrow when he saw his panting brother and his utterly ridiculous mate. Crowley was the first to catch his breath and the first to question him: “How… how’d you do that, you arse?”

“Suriel, I have thought you to be an angel and yet I find you running after my son like a common mud monkey.” Michael said with a sniff. He walked towards Aziraphale and took the towel his younger brother was holding.

“Your son kept shocking our Grace with his own! You think angel and I _wanted_ to chase his naked butt around?”

Crowley made a move to swap the child out of Michael’s arms. The archangel turned away, his arms tightening around his son protectively. He gave Crowley a glare that obviously said: ‘My son, bitch’.

“What’s wrong with Samuel’s naked bottom?” Michael asked indignantly, as he wrapped Samuel in the towel.

“Nothing, you preening pigeon! We just don’t want to _chase_ it.”

Aziraphale looked up and shook his head, a fond smile on his face. “Honestly both of you; your fights can one day distract you – ” Aziraphale stopped and turned his head around. “Brother, Crowley, do stop your fight – I feel something, can you not?”

Both of the heavenly creatures stiffened when Aziraphale made his announcement. Suriel quickly began to scour the entire building, his Grace expanding and searching and searching – until he found it.

Wordlessly, he communicated his thought.

‘ _Seraph’_ , he signed.

Michael narrowed his eyes and handed the towel clad Samuel to an indignant looking Aziraphale.

 _‘I can help!’_ his eyes told him.

Michael simply gave his youngest brother a thunderous look which Aziraphale recognized from when he was a child. Wincing, Aziraphale retreated to Samuel’s nursery.

Michael knew he was going to regret sending Aziraphale away like that; his younger brother had a vengeful streak that could rival Lucifer’s.

Michael’s Grace began to stretch. First, it wrapped around Crowley’s Grace like a protective bubble – because, Michael might not like him, but his younger brother obviously only had eyes for Michael’s rival.

It then expanded further, embracing the rouge Grace in an iron tight grasp so that it may not escape. The Grace lashed out, tried to escape and if Crowley’s Grace wasn’t protected by Michael’s, the angel of death would probably be very sore, or mildly injured.

Whoever this was, they were doing a good job of masking their identity and the amount of power they possessed.

The eldest archangel continued to drag the Grace towards Crowley’s living room, the closer the Grace came to where Crowley and Michael’s physical bodies were, the less violent it became, as though it was resigned.

When the Grace was finally where Michael could see it, he nearly dropped it in shock. He was not expecting this. He thought it could be a rouge like Anael, not …this.

“Castiel.” He said, and the Seraph’s Grace responded in the usual manner. Michael was surprised that the usually quiet and obedient little Seraph was _here_ , so far away from his post as a Guardian.

“What are you doing here?” He commanded, and the Seraph’s Grace seemed to curl into itself, as though it was _shy_. Strange act, considering the fact it came from one of Gabriel’s best fighters.

And Gabriel had many fighters under his command before he disappeared.  Or died, Michael’s still not sure what happened after the third generation’s Deliverance.

‘ _I saw you with Samuel.’_ Castiel replied, and his Grace was devoid of any hate, or disgust – an unusual attitude towards Nephilim; perhaps Castiel did not know of Samuel’s status?

“How’d you come inside _my_ house? It’s warded.” Crowley suddenly asked, looking displeased at the idea that another angel had invaded his home without his consent.

The body-less Grace twisted around the confines of Michael’s Grace, and the archangel could feel its confusion. _Who is this?_ Its thought wandered from its own Grace to Michael’s, but Michael did not answer; he still didn’t know what he was going to do with Castiel.

 _‘Father gave me a soul to Guard when he created me,’_ Castiel began. _‘Wards can not come between a Guardian and his charge. Your wards hid him from me for a long time, but I have found him few days ago.’_

“You are Samuel’s Guardian?” Aziraphale piped in, carrying a sleeping Samuel in his arms. Michael shot him a glare, to which Aziraphale replied uncharacteristically by sticking his tongue out. Biting back a huff, Michael thought to himself: ‘How childish.’

  _‘Indeed I am.’_

“And you know _who_ is Samuel’s father is?”

_‘Yes; to confirm my suspicions, I caused a small distraction in Heaven to observe his actions. Michael coming here, and Samuel’s reaction to him is proof enough for me. Fear not, Samuel remains my charge and I wish him no harm for being a Nephilim.’_

“Wonderful.  That means you can’t hurt him, As soon as you acquire a vessel, feel free to join us for tea-time.”

“Wha – angel! Tea-time is _our_ time!”

“Crowley, don’t be daft. Please.”

As Castiel’s Grace began to exhibit feeling of wonder at the two’s interaction, Michael allowed his Grace to become formless, drawing it back into his vessel and freeing the small ball of Grace.

“Don’t worry,” Michael said with a smile, his tone indicating that he should worry. “You’ll get used to those two. Soon enough.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is little bit weird. Or it could be me, I don't know.  
> Next Chapter: Dean


	6. Dean

Chapter Four:

Dean

 

When Dean first held his brother in his arms, his mind was filled with thoughts of a future where he was going to teach Sammy how to kick balls and that the best time to sneak cookies behind their mother’s back is when she’s busy kissing their father.

Dean knew that his life changed when Sammy entered it; he knew he was going to share his parents with Sammy, but he hadn’t minded at that time. Having Sammy meant that he had someone to play with in the house, it meant having someone he could talk to in the night and it meant he was going to be a _big brother_.

Having Sammy meant he was going to be an important person to someone who wasn’t his parents.

Now every time he saw two brothers laughing together, playing together, pranking each other, angry at each other, his chest would suddenly be too tight and he can’t breathe because. It’s. Just. Not. Fucking. Fair.

It should be him and Sam, growing up together. It should be him and Sam, playing, pranking, being annoying little shits. It shouldn’t be only him, standing behind his parents while he learnt how to properly load a gun and how to aim.

It should be Dean and Sam Winchester, brothers; standing together and taking down all what went bump in the night.

He knows he shouldn’t complain – because damn it, there are hunters out there who are missing a mother or a father or even both. There are hunters who are living only for the hunt, and he wasn’t.

He had a home, and more importantly he had both of his parents. He knew he was lucky, but damn it, if it didn’t feel like a huge part of him was missing.

If Sammy was still alive, if Sammy was still here, maybe this empty part of him would be _whole_ and his parents won’t be fighting all the time and everything would be _alright_.

*

He’s twelve years old when his father brings _him_ to their home. Him being Sam’s replacement; Adam, his father’s new youngest.

Supposedly he’s Dean’s new younger brother.

Dean’s mother tells him some fancy story about birds and babies but they both know that Dean had watched too much television to believe in that fairytale. Still, he smiles and pretends to believe her because he knows it makes her happy to pretend.

He knew the newborn was the result of one of his father’s one night stands after the last fight he had with his mother.

His parents try to integrate Adam into the family but Dean will not, can not do that. Because that boy was a _fraud_. A cheap knock off of the real thing, and Dean wanted the real thing.

He wanted Sammy.

His parents told him that his little brother was gone but he didn’t believe them because the warmth that existed in his heart when he first held Sammy in his arms still existed, hot as ever.

Dean swallows when Adam flashed him a Sam-like smile.

He doesn’t want to love the new younger brother because that meant he’d be betraying Sammy. Big brothers aren’t supposed to betray their siblings.

(He grows to love Adam, though.)

*

When Dean is sixteen, he meets Sammy again.

The older boy didn’t realize it at the beginning of course, too focused on exchanging spit with what’s-her-name. If he wasn’t distracted, he would’ve held the twelve years old in his arms and never let go.

He might’ve tagged the kid, too.

As it so happened, Sammy had been running, laughter escaping his throat and happiness shining in his eyes. He bumped at the kissing teenage couple, dropping something on the ground with a metallic clang.

 

“Watch where you’re going brat.” What’s-her-name said sharply, but her tone was not unkind or annoyed. Rather, she sounded amused.

The child seemed to catch on her tone, because he laughed merrily and said with an accent, his voice like bells: “Sorry!”

Dean’s heart ached and filled with warmth when the hazel eyes settled on him, because the boy had dimples and hazel eyes and brown hair just like his Sammy. The boy looked behind him, before he giggled and loudly proclaimed: “You can’t catch me, Cassie, Crowley!”

When Dean heard the last name, he froze and couldn’t say anything. Crowley.

Crowley.

Crowley, the name of one of the creatures who stole his brother from his crib. Before Dean’s hand could wrap around the boy’s forearm, the boy, who _must_ be Sammy, was gone.

“Hey kid, wait!” The girl he was kissing called out, a metal pendant in her hand. “You dropped this!”

Dean stilled when he saw the pendant; it was one of a pair, and Dean had the other one around his neck. Without thinking, he grabbed the pendant and _ran_ , ignoring the girl’s shrieks of _thief! thief!_

He wasn’t a thief, but he knew that the thieves’ little treasure was still alive and now he can finally had proof.

(His father’s angry that he couldn’t bring Sammy home, but his mother’s eyes are filled with tears and she asks him: _how does he look? Did he look happy? How did his speak? What did he sound like? What was he wearing? Tell me, tell me, tell me._ Selfishly, Dean wished he had kept Sammy a secret because those who gave up on him did not deserve to have him, but when he hears Adam asking about Sammy with wide eyes, he knew he did the right thing; Sam did not deserve to be forgotten.)

*

When Dean is twenty five, he finds a psychic. From the chain around his neck, hung two pendants.

Nervous hands unhook the chain, dropping both identical pendants on the woman’s table. He takes a deep breath and tries not to think about his family waiting in the motel for him, who warned him against enlisting the woman’s help.

“Help me find my brother.” He tells her. “He was taken us from us twenty one years ago.”

The woman smiled, and asked about her payment. Dean doesn’t hesitate, his dagger digging at the woman’s neck. “Is your life good enough?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey thanks everyone for reading. Currently I am on vacation and working on my first big bang; I rushed to finish writing this chapter which is why it's so short; hopefully when my vacation is finished I can go back to writing regularly.  
> Love you all readers <3  
> Next Chapter: Sam


	7. Samuel

Chapter Five:

Samuel

 

Samuel knows he is lucky.

He has two awesome uncles, a super cool “babysitter” aka Guardian, and one father who wouldn’t hesitate to switch the sun and the moon if he only asked. There is this pang in his chest, however, every time some human passes him – the feeling that certainly does not feel lucky. It comes every time one of the bigger kids call him “fat”, or push him down a short flight of stairs, or even steal his class notes.

Samuel knows he is an abomination.

He doesn’t tell his uncles or father about the feeling though, and he certainly doesn’t let them on the fact that he _knows_ what he is.

 _Nephilim_. Monster.

Of course, if Samuel’s father knew he referred to himself as a monster, he’d throw a fit. So, Samuel keeps quiet and keeps a smile on his face for his father’s sake. Instead, he pretends to be a cheerful and carefree child – the child his family believes him to be.

It’s hard, and sometimes he hates his very existence. Why should he get to live such a privileged life when he was an abomination? A creature cursed as unnatural, outlawed by His word?

But Samuel is a selfish creature; he knows he is an abomination that doesn’t deserve to live, but he _wants_. He wants to spend eternity curled underneath his father’s wings; he wants to witness Aziraphale and Crowley’s light-hearted arguments every day. He wants to watch TV with Castiel and laugh when the older creature doesn’t understand why a yellow bear is wearing a red shirt.

Samuel may be a monster condemned by God, but he is also a selfish person who _wants_ to live. He wants to be with his family, and he desperately wants to hold onto his innocence a little longer, and pretend he’s an angel like his family told him.

He wants to believe he’s like them – _not_ a monster.  

So, when he sees his father covered in flour and running after Crowley, who was laughing and hugging a bag of flour to his chest, with Castiel and Aziraphale drinking tea nearby, he can’t help but push the dark feeling away.

Instead, he smiles widely and pretends everything is alright. He pretends he is a harmless twelve years old, whose only concern is when his father can come and visit him next.

*

When Samuel is fifteen, he asks his father if he can go to university. Many of his classmates have already begun to speak about their future, and whenever someone asked him about his choice, he only gave them an uncertain smile.

He didn’t know if his father would let him attend a university.

His father, in response, looked at him as though he had gone crazy. “Why would you want to go to university, Samuel? These institutions are absolutely useless.”

Samuel twitched in his seat, desperately wishing for his father to stop staring at him like that. His request was not so crazy now, was it?

“Well, everyone else is talking about their future and I –”

“Your future is with _me_.” His father cut in, and the possessive undertone did not go unnoticed by Samuel, who tried to further bury himself in his seat. He felt his father’s hand on his cheek, gently pushing his face up so that he and his father’s eyes were locked into a stare. “Soon, you will be old enough to leave your uncles’ side and come with me; I’ve had my nest prepared for you since you were a child.”

Samuel blinked. This was the first time he had heard of his father’s plan. “In… heaven?”

His father smiled at him, obviously not picking on his son’s confusion. He leant forward and placed a kiss on Samuel’s forehead.

“Is that not the home of all angels, my child?” Michael patted Samuel’s shoulders, an excited gleam in his eyes. “Once there, you and I can be together – I won’t leave you alone ever again, I promise.”

Michael then changed the subject, asking Samuel about his classes, his hobbies. He asked him if there was anything he wanted for his birthday, and whether he had any free time to go flying with him.

Samuel answered his father’s question automatically, not truly thinking about his father’s questions. Instead, his brain was very busy thinking; when was his father planning to take him to Heaven? Angels’ perception of time differed greatly from humans, so ‘soon’ could mean anything from three hours to thirty years.

Samuel realized that there are many things his father was keeping from him; he realized that he didn’t know _anything_. The only thing he knew for certain, however, was that he couldn’t go to Heaven.

Abominations like him would not be allowed up there, even if his Grandfather no longer resided within the Garden.

He will be killed, and worst still he might take down his father with him. Samuel wanted to live, and he didn’t want his father to be ostracized. He needs more information, but he’s unlikely to get any, so he needs someone to be on _his_ side.

Someone who can convince his father to let him go to university, so Samuel can be far away from his father and his Heaven-involved plans.

He needs his uncles.

*

Days later, he overhears a fight between his uncles and his father. He is upstairs, but he has better hearing than humans, so he can hear everything as though he is standing next to them.

“You cocky rooster, you have no right telling Sammy he can’t go to university.” He hears Crowley telling his father in a rude tone. Samuel can imagine the scowl his uncle was probably wearing, and he felt slightly guilty for starting the fight, but Samuel didn’t know how to tell his father that he didn’t want to go to heaven, not with his father wearing a hopeful expression every time Samuel brought up the subject.  

“ _I_ have no right? I am his _father!_ ” He hears his father reply, his voice filled with rage. “ _You_ need to stay away from our private affairs!”

“I can’t stay away when Sammy _comes to me_ asking me to speak to you now can I?”

He can hear his father taking in a deep, shocked breath. “You’re lying! Samuel would _tell_ me if wanted something!”

Samuel strained his ears as both of his uncles spoke at once: “Not if he felt you were pressuring him!”

“Brother, sometimes Samuel is more comfortable asking us; you have a very strong presence.”

Castiel appeared out of nowhere at that moment. Samuel was so shocked, he fell off his bed and crashed to the ground with a resounding _bang!_ There is no way they didn’t hear that downstairs.

As he suspected, the fight immediately dulled down to a slight buzz until he could hear nothing. They must’ve put up a containment shield to stop the sound from traveling.

Sighing, he rested his face on his palms. Sam’s eyebrows joined together in a frown as he gave Castiel a nasty look.

“Ice cream.” Castiel tells him awkwardly, shoving his hands inside his pockets. Samuel briefly wondered if he was sent by Aziraphale, or if he had just wanted to relieve his sweet tooth.

Samuel wants to tell him he’s too old to eat ice cream, except he knows that no one is too old to eat ice cream. So he nods his head and follows his Guardian out of the house, dearly hoping that his father would allow him to leave.

*

He meets a girl called Jessica through an international pen pal program in his school. She tells him she’s going to attend Stanford to study pre-med. When he, in a fit of emotional distress, complains to her about his father not allowing him to attend university, she tells him to apply for Stanford.

 _“But I can’t go without my father’s permission!”_   He wrote back, horrified at the thought of going against his father. All of his classmates went along with whatever their parents decided for them; then again, he didn’t spend too much time with them. Crowley didn’t approve of the Catholic school he was attending.

 _“Sam,”_ She wrote back, her handwriting small and neat. _“Sometimes parents can’t let go of their children. This is your life, not his you know?_ You _have to make a choice; will you regret going to university, or will you regret doing what your father asks from you? The most important thing in life, I think, is living it without regret.”_

Jessica raised some good questions in her letter. Will he regret trusting his father’s plan, or will he regret making his own decisions?

With a heavy heart, Samuel wrote back a reply. When he went to the post office, he had two envelopes; one addressed to Jesse, while the other one was addressed to Stanford. If Stanford agrees to give him a full ride, then he will make his own decision. If not, he will trust his father’s judgment.

At seventeen years old, Samuel realizes that this is the first time he disobeyed his father.

*

When the acceptance letter finally arrived, Samuel drew some heavy sigils on his skin before he left for America.

He left a single letter for his family. He hoped they can forgive his choice.

*

The land around him is smoky and unclear. Samuel is not sure if he is floating or if he is standing on solid ground.

“Is this a dream?” He asked himself, moving forward.

In front of him, he sees a curled up figure with wings sticking out of its back. Curious, Samuel peered closer and saw that it was a middle-aged man with handsome, but tired feature. He realized that the man’s wings were pitch black; was he a fallen angel like Crowley?

Hesitant, he touched the fallen angel’s shoulder, shaking it slowly.  “Are you okay?”

The man’s golden eyes opened groggily, as if he was waking up from a very long sleep. “Nghh… who are you?”

The man seemed harmless enough, so Samuel gave him a slow smile. “I am Samuel – Samuel Michaelson.”

“… Michael’s son, huh?” The man asked, his eyes trailing over Samuel’s wings – when did they become visible? – before he gave the younger boy an exhausted, but still confident smirk. “You can call me Lucifer.”

“You have a horrible sense of humor, but alright, I’ll call you Lucifer.” Samuel told him blandly, not believing him at all; his uncle Lucifer was the devil, wasn’t he? This man seemed _too_ ordinary to be a devil, he must think calling himself Lucifer funny.

Lucifer blinked, slightly surprised. Samuel wondered if many angels possessed the same shocked face; the fallen angel’s expression reminded him of his father’s. The older man then sniggered, before he offered: “You can call me Luci, if you want.”

Sameul gave Lucifer a wide, toothy smile. “It’s nice to meet you Lucifer!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to me, happy birthday to me~ <3  
> I finished this chapter and the one after it (Which concludes Act one, btw) as a bday gift to myself -- and I also figured that you lot have waited long enough to get your update XD  
> Beware of the many errors that can be found in this chapter; I wrote this while on a sugar high, so I am not sure of what I wrote 0///0  
> I figure I will do the editing after I finish the story though (ી(΄◞ิ౪◟ิ‵)ʃ)  
> Sorry for nor updating quicker; university physics sucks and I am probably going to repeat that shit class.   
> I love you readers, and I love your comments even more so please tell me what you think of this chapter (♥ω♥ ) ~♪


	8. Bonus:  The Third Generation’s Deliverance

Bonus:

The Third Generation’s Deliverance

 

“I am not doing it.” Gabriel told Him. His Grace shook in horror at the thought of what his father wanted him to do. “I _can’t_. I can’t kill my siblings’ _children_.”

“What do you care for the children of your fallen siblings?”

 His Father asked him. Gabriel couldn’t see His face – then again, who could? He was unapproachable after Adam and Eve’s banishment – but His voice was hard and without emotion. Did he truly not care for the fallen ones anymore?

Gabriel doesn’t know how to associate this heartless command with his kind Father, so he doesn’t bow and leave. Instead, he tries to argue.

“They are still _my_ brothers and sisters.”

His Father did not reply to this, instead, He repeated His order in a quiet but firm voice.

When Gabriel did not move, He tried to persuade him. “They have committed numerous sins and have caused a great grievance for mankind.”

Gabriel is _tired_. Tired of the conversation, tired of men’s sins, but most of all, he was tired of all the _fighting_.  “So the sin of a few will condemn them all? How is that just, Father?”

His Father did not answer, and Gabriel knew that He could not be reasoned with. Turning away, Gabriel disappeared from the Garden.

He didn’t want to fight anymore – but His orders needed to be fulfilled.

*

Gabriel wiped the blood of his recent kill of his blade, trying to keep the image of the boy out of his mind. The boy had smiled happily when he saw him; the child had no reason to suspect that his mother was possessed by Gabriel.

The archangel hated doing this, but at least the boy died quickly and painlessly.

With a murmur of words, Gabriel sent the child’s spirit to his brother, Haniel. Haniel will be happy to craft his son’s spot in Heaven. Gabriel stepped over the boy’s prone body, and he sent a prayer to his Father; may the soul of this Nephilim, as well as those of the others he had killed, find peace in Heaven.

Gabriel was about to leave the small house, when he heard heavy breathing. Spreading his Grace, the archangel realized something; there was another Nephilim in the hut, hiding in a small cupboard in front of him. Observing the cupboard further, he realized that there were several tiny Enochian runes and sigils hastily etched onto the surface of the cupboard wood.

Gabriel’s breath caught in his throat. There was only one Nephilim in all of Earth who bothered to learn Enochian, and there was only one Nephilim who could’ve known he was coming.

He verbalized his horror, “No.”

He had prayed she wouldn’t die by his hand. He had _hoped_ with everything he had that her death would be delivered by someone other else, not him.

“Your father warned you.” He greeted her, opening the cupboard door. Although it was dark, Gabriel’s niece’s blue eyes glowed in the dark and that gave her away.

Marianna crawled out of the cupboard’s darkness into the light, revealing her painted tanned flesh to the world.

“…No.” She told him adamantly, her voice shaky. “Papa told me nothing. I was just… playing.”

Gabriel’s heart, or rather the heart of the woman he was wearing, ached. Raphael’s daughter was clearly fearful for her father’s life, but she was a horrible liar. Besides, the runes painted on her flesh were definitely written by his brother; Gabriel would recognize that horrible handwriting anywhere.

“Don’t lie.” He told his niece, a smile stretching his host’s face. “You can’t lie to your uncle.”

“I can lie as much as I want when said uncle is here to kill me.” She told him bluntly, her eyes shining with unshed tears and Gabriel knew she was more affected with the Nephilim child’s death than he had originally perceived.

Her words were like a blow to his face, however. Worse still, he felt as though the core of his very being had shattered underneath the weight of her words. To hear those words from the mouth of a fledgling he himself had helped raise… it destroyed everything Gabriel had wanted to be. When he kill Raphael’s daughter, he will not be an uncle, he will not be a brother and he will not be _family_.

He will be a murderer.

The blood of the Nephilim was in his hands, yes, but that blood can eventually be washed away with time; the rest of the angels will forgive his sin as part of God’s plan and they will watch over their children in Heaven. Already some angels have volunteered to escort their children’s souls to Heaven, preferring to be their children’s merciful executers.

Marianne’s blood, however, will never wash away; because Raphael will not forgive. Raphael, who struggled and worked _hard_ to court Marianne’s mother, will never forget his beloved daughter’s death. Seeing how far his brother had gone in his attempt to protect his daughter’s life, Gabriel knew that Raphael did not care for their Father’s plan; Raphael may pretend he was a good son like Michael, but he was always passionate, like Lucifer.

Once Raphael loved, he loved deeply and without restraint. If he knew Gabriel was the one to kill his daughter, Raphael will forever hold a grudge against Gabriel. The archangel did not want to ruin his relationship with his brother.

However, Gabriel had orders he had to fulfill. He had a _duty_ that he couldn’t just overlook. His grip on his blade tightened, as he began to steel his resolve. Gabriel may have been there for the girl’s birth, he may have been there for her first words, he may have been there for her first flight and he may have been there for her Enochian lessons, but he couldn’t allow that to cloud his judgment.

Marianne must’ve seen something in his eyes, because she finally allowed her tears to fall from her eyes. “Uncle,” She called out hoarsely, her clammy hands wrapping around his vessel’s wrist.

Faintly, he thought to himself that her hands are still so small.

 “Please… I am not part of the Third Generation movement – can you not spare me?”

While she may not be part of the generation that had demanded recognition as angels from his Father, she was still a Nephilim.

Father had ordered for the eradication of all Nephilims.

“I am sorry.” He told her simply, rising his blade above his head. Marianne’s hand dropped from his wrist. He took a deep breath in as his niece closed her eyes and began to sob.  His thirteen years old niece was beginning to sound more and more pathetic with every sob, and he was reminded once more that she was still a fledgling.

“Uncle, uncle, uncle – _please_.”

He can do this. He repeated: “I am sorry.”

He brought his blade down.

*

Gabriel felt Raphael’s eyes bore into the back of his head.

He tried to ignore his brother, and kept wiping his pristine blade. He could see Marianne’s blood still clinging into the metal of his weapon.

He had already washed it three times – why was the blood not coming out?

“I will never forgive you for what you had done.” Raphael told him, his voice sharper than any blade Gabriel had been stabbed with. To hear his younger brother tell him this broke his heart.

“I know.” He told his brother in subdued voice. “I don’t expect you to.”

Gabriel heard Raphael leave, and he watched in horror as his blade colored once more with Marianne’s blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand this concludes Act One. Thank you everyone who commented on the previous chapter; hopefully act two will arrive sometimes soon. Or after a month, it really depends on my uni as my winter break is over officially tomorrow :(  
> See you next time, my lovelies ;)


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